


Watercolored

by apostated



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Other, Romance, i have a problem and his name is solas, i just got the world of thedas and i can't stop writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostated/pseuds/apostated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No-one ever stayed in apartment 402 for long.  First there were the racists, who claimed living next to a Dalish “harshed their mellow”.  Then there was the weird kid with the hat obsession who just vanished overnight and had last been seen tending the graveyard up town.  It’d been empty for over a year before the newest one turned up.  Ellana Lavellan had just about gotten used to living across from an empty space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 402 at 6:00 AM

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone else occasionally compare Alistair to Josh Gates? Or am I the only one who sees it? I’m probably the only one who sees it. Also, I want to apologize in advance for the length. I kind of started and couldn’t stop and I felt it better to keep going than chop it up. I’ve been wanting to write a modern AU for WEEKS and this one came to me in the shower. Thank you and happy reading x :)

Ellana trudged up the stairs with one arm laden with groceries while trying to maneuver her bicycle up the four flights to her home.  She was going to have to talk to Cullen about getting the damned elevator fixed; it was impossible to get herself, her food, and her bike upstairs if she ended up having to buy milk at the store.  Despite the fact that she was strong for her petite size, she wasn’t _quite_ talented enough to haul all of that shit up four flights of stairs and into her apartment after a nine hour shift at Nightingale’s.  She could barely haul _herself_ up four flights of stairs after a nine hour shift, never mind food and transportation.  

She cursed the old gods and the Maker as she reached the top of the stairs, her calves aching and shoulders and arms protesting.  It wasn’t that she was necessarily out of shape; she biked to and from the coffee shop where she worked every day and did yoga when she could be arsed, but there was a difference in biking and yoga and climbing four flights of stairs carrying a bicycle and what felt like her weight in groceries.  She was _really_ going to have to talk to Cullen.  Or get a car, and that was about as likely as Mythal herself descending in front of her to tell her that all of her student loan debt had been forgiven and despite her lack of degree, she’d been granted a job working restoring ancient Dalish art.

Her groceries were unceremoniously dumped on the ground in front of her door before she began digging in her backpack for her keys.  It took her a moment to find them amidst the jumble of copic markers and various assorted other drawing supplies, makeup, and crushed packets of granola and crackers.  She pulled them out with a triumphant grin, unlocked her door, and wheeled her bike inside.  Now that the daunting task of climbing her way to her apartment was taken care of, the monumental chore of putting away her groceries was upon her.

She didn’t have much, just some milk and assorted breakfast foods and bread.  She wasn’t entirely sure why she bothered to buy the bread; she rarely ate it before it molded and she preferred the fresh baked from the bakery down the street anyway.  Habit, she supposed, and something for her friends to eat other than cereal and yoghurt if they came over.  It made her counter top look less bare, at least.  

Once that was done, she slipped into her pajamas and dug out her sketchbook and a drafting pencil; she’d always been chided at school for not having a proper pencil set, but the drafting pencil allowed her cleaner lines and it smudged to her liking, and they didn’t need regular sharpening.  The television played idly in the background, advertising an upcoming docudrama series on the Champion of Kirkwall.  Ellana smirked down at her paper, wondering how much Varric had gotten paid to do the screenplay.  

Shuffling outside of her door caught her attention and her ears pricked up, trying to hone in on the sound.  She cut the volume off on the television, tense, her toes curling inside of her socks as she listened.  She didn’t get visitors often and she always knew if someone was dropping by.  The sound of someone setting down a box of something — glass rattling, perhaps — resounded through the silence.  Ellana heard the unmistakable noise of someone opening and closing a door and she relaxed somewhat.  

It seemed Cullen had finally found a tenant for room 402.

* * *

As soon as her fingers wrapped around her phone buzzing for her to wake up, Ellana knew she had gone to bed entirely too late to be working the earliest shift at Nightingale’s.  Her ultimate weakness was watching Warden Alistair Theirin’s _Destination: Deep Roads;_ the exploration of the supernatural ancient Dwarven thaigs fascinated her, despite the fact that she was sure one hundred and two percent of it was fake.  No-one had that level of ill luck and _lived_.  But there had been a marathon on, and despite her cynicism, she always fell into the trap when the MAGI channel decided to play the previous season back to back after the season finale.  And it was _so good_ , so spine-tinglingly tense, that she’d been unable to look away as the hours ticked by around her.  She instantly regretted the previous night’s high as her sleep-deprived eyes sought the window.  The lack of sunlight blaring through her curtain was not encouraging in the least, but she propped herself up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and made a vow that she was going to make herself the biggest mocha in the shop’s history when she got to work.  


Leliana owed her that much for making her come in at six in the morning to cover Sera’s shift.

Ellana threw her pajamas haphazardly onto her bed, slipping on her bathrobe and striding to take a shower.  The sound as she cut the water on was so relaxing that she was tempted to close her eyes and kip for a bit on the tile floor, but she had to remind herself that she had to work — a thought that wasn’t exactly appealing — and she stepped under the hot water.  A smile came to her lips unbidden as the steaming water washed away the tenseness in her neck and shoulders, relaxing and waking her at the same time.  She loved taking a shower; there was nothing like the feeling of being clean, of her damp hair dripping down her back and the cool air on her wet skin.  It reminded her of home, although then baths were harder to come by when they travelled all across the Free Marches.  Perhaps that was why she loved it so much; it was such a rare thing when she was younger that even permanent access to running water still felt like a luxury.

Once she felt she had wasted enough of the building’s water just rinsing and re-rinsing her hair, she toweled off and went in search of clothes.  The best thing about working for Leliana (besides Leliana herself, of course) was the fact that there was no dress code at the shop.  It made Ellana’s life easier, with her _vallaslin_ and her tendency to force some sort of self-expression on any uniform she was made to wear.  Most employers tired of her insistence to imbue some part of herself in her day-to-day wear; Leliana basked in it.  She slipped into her favorite pair of worn skinny jeans and went digging for a clean top to wear; she settled on a simple tank top and green plaid shirt she wore as a cardigan.  Boring, but cozier than dressing up.  She threw on some sneakers, grabbed her keys, bike, and helmet, and had just finished locking her door when she turned and nearly jumped out of her skin.

The mysterious new neighbor had emerged from his apartment at the same time as she had and the unexpected emergence of another person had scared her out of her wits. She couldn’t exactly say whether or not she’d done the same to him; his face did not bear the same ridiculous expression of shock as her own.  

“ _Fenedhis_!” she swore, her eyes widening and the tips of her ears blushing as she realized what she said.  So much for great first impressions, even though he likely didn’t know what it meant.  If he did it was even _more_ humiliating.  “Shit, I mean — no, that’s not what I mean, I meant…oh, Creators, I am so sorry.”

Ellana could feel the heat spreading from her ears to her cheeks and she knew she must look, and sound, like a complete and utter dunce.  She raised her eyes to look up at him; his pointed ears and sharp brow were his most prominent features, followed by his grey eyes and…was his head shaved or bald?  She willed her tongue not to ask.  Either way, he was not exactly what she was expecting; most of the tenants in the building were like herself — recent graduates, dropouts, or students, and to see anyone over the age of, well, twenty-eight aside from Cullen was rare indeed.  Anyone over the age of twenty-eight who was so annoyingly attractive was even more rare.

“It seems I have startled you,” he told her, inclining his head in apology.  His voice held a lilt that sent her heart hammering in her chest and she could feel her cheeks and ears flush even more red.  “I apologize most profusely for doing so.  Your language is to be expected; I am guilty of doing the same on occasion.  There is nothing to be sorry for.”  

His lips quirked upward in a slight smile, though whether it was mocking, amused, or an attempt at reassurance, Ellana could not tell.  Reading people had never been one of her strongest suits.

_‘If the world could swallow me up right now, that’d be bloody brilliant.’_

Her mouth felt extremely dry as she nodded, gripping her handlebars with excessive force.  

“Yes, right, well, nice to meet you, I s’pose,” she managed, though the words came out as more of a squeak than anything and gods help her, she _knew_  he could see the redness on her cheeks and ears.  For one wild moment, she believed that he could probably feel it too, with the way her face was blazing.  

The stranger chuckled, and the smile that she was unsure of a moment before _definitely_ became a smirk.  

“Indeed,” he told her, sidestepping her and making his way through the door opposite them to head downstairs.

The entire bike ride to Leliana’s was spent contemplating the millions and billions of infinite different ways that she could have run into her new neighbor that didn’t involve her swearing like Varric on a Tuesday and blushing like a beet.  Most of them included fantasies about her managing to successfully introduce herself, be intriguing, and leave him craving more of her presence, but reality was far less satisfying than that.  Not only had Ellana displayed her proclivity for embarrassing herself when it mattered most, she’d left what was probably an unparalleled bad first impression.  She’d be surprised if he decided to stay more than a week, what with a neighbor who was obviously completely bonkers living across the hallway.  


* * *

She sighed as she pedaled up to work, entering the shop and wheeling her bike to the back room.  Leliana had already opened; 6:00 to Leliana meant 5:15 to any other person.  There were no customers yet, so at least she had time to wash up and get herself organized.

“By the dark circles in under your eyes, I take it you spent the evening watching Alistair explore the Kal-Sharok thaig,” her boss told her, looking too smug for six in the morning.  

“Not my fault you won’t introduce me; how else am I supposed to get my fix?” she laughed, wiping off one of the coffee pots to rid it of excess grounds.

“ _Ma chère,_ when will you ever learn?” Leliana teased, working around her to begin hauling ingredients out of the refrigerators below the counter.  “A mocha, then?  Would you like me to add cinnamon like you like it?”

“ _Please_.  After the morning I’ve had, I need the cinnamon _and_ an extra shot,” she confessed, smiling in spite of herself.  There was something about Leliana that could brighten anyone’s mood.  

“What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah — just humiliated myself.  Nothing major.  Cullen finally found a tenant for 402, and I nearly bowled him over on my way out the door.  I wasn’t expecting him to emerge at the same time I did and it scared the shit out of me, so true to my nature, I blushed like an idiot and —.”

She paused in the middle of her story, the bell tinkling as a customer walked in the door. Her eyes alighted on his face and she could feel the color spreading across her cheeks once more and had to resist the urge to curse each and every god in her pantheon.  Today just really was not her day.  And why, _why_ could her body not manage to send blood rushing to her face and ears?  Why couldn’t she even be granted the chance to manage to try and fake some semblance of composure?

The wolfish grin on his features and amusement in his eyes was obvious and part of her wished she could throw a cup at his stupid smirking face if for no other reason to see it devoid of that expression.  But Leliana was extremely against bad manners, and Ellana wouldn’t have done it anyway.

“Good morning.”

Dread Wolf take that stupid shit-eating grin.


	2. Deplorable Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cup of Earl Grey shall suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos from chapter one??!??! I’m crying omg thank you so so so much <3 You lot are so sweet! Happy reading x

“Good morning,” Ellana recovered.  Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears and the smile she remembered to hitch on her face in the name of good customer service was hellishly forced and she knew it.  At least she managed something other than ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ or another eloquent ‘ _Fenedhis_ ’.  Dread Wolf take her if Leliana overheard her swearing in front of a customer.  


He chuckled throatily as he approached the counter, the sound low and rumbling and inappropriately delightful, and for one crazy second she entertained the idea of what his actual laugh sounded like before her train of thought shifted to throwing a coffee cup at _herself_.  She willed herself to keep her imaginings off of her face.  She didn’t even _know_ him; why should she care what his laugh sounded like?  All she knew about him was that he had an insufferable smirk and gods-blessed bone structure.   _‘Wait, what?’_

His eyes scanned the menu, the corners of his mouth turning down as he squinted ever so slightly to read, clasping his hands behind his back.  After several quiet moments where Ellana had been busying herself wiping down the marble countertop and refusing to look at him, he cleared his throat.  She looked up from her work and gave him a tight smile, situating herself behind the register.  At least there was something solid between them this time and not just her own mortification.

“How can I help you?”  

“A cup of Earl Grey shall suffice,” he spoke, eyes alighting on her.  The mocking smile was gone now, his face faded into a pleasantly neutral expression as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Two fifty,” she told him, punching the order into the register and accepting the cash he offered her once he had counted it out.  She could feel Leliana’s eyes burning holes into the back of her skull and it was all Ellana could do to not attempt to become one with the tile beneath her feet.  Of course Leliana had sniffed out the tension between them.  It was almost as though she could hear the cogs in the redheaded woman’s head turning, trying to piece together what had caused the aura of tension to settle in the petite café.  Her boss was _annoyingly_ perceptive.  That was the problem with Orlesians; they knew everybody’s business but their own and were good at rooting out any sort of rumors or tensions.

She pulled off one of the cups from the stack behind the case holding Leliana’s assortment of Orlesian pastries and muffins.  Settling it on the counter, she balanced on her tiptoes to reach the box of Earl Grey teabags imported from Tevinter.  She opened the little protective cover housing the sachet of tea with much more force than was likely warranted, settling it in the cup before going over to their hot water machine and filling it just centimeters below the rim.  She never made tea right in Leliana’s opinion, but Ellana didn’t care; it was hard to make bagged tea that tasted the same as loose-leaf, and she didn’t exactly have prime access to a kettle and an infuser.  Nor did they have the time to fix tea the “proper” way.  And, maybe, just maybe, the childish part of her was looking for some sort of petty retribution for the way that her new neighbor had her blushing like a buffoon.  She snapped the lid on with care to ensure that she didn’t spill water on herself (a fine morning that would be – hot water burns and humiliation on every level), sliding a protective sleeve over the cup and setting it on the counter before him.

His long, thin fingers curled around the cardboard sleeve and Ellana had to look away and force her thoughts into some semblance of normalcy before she could bear to look him in the face again.  She was acting like a flustered little schoolgirl.  And a nutter.  A deranged schoolgirl who couldn’t keep image of his hands out of her mind.  If only Leliana would hurry up with that mocha; she needed it _pronto._    

She made a mental note to absolutely murder Sera when she saw her next.  None of this would have happened if her coworker had deigned to not play hooky and ask Ellana to cover for her.    


“Thank you for your business,” she heard herself say, meeting his gaze.  The amused look was back on his face at her words, and he took a sip of the tea, grimacing at the taste.  Part of her felt personally offended that he should make such a face in regards to tea she had made herself, but the other part of her told her at least she hadn’t done something like spill it on his crotch on accident.

“This is the only coffee shop in town open at such an early hour.  If I am going to waste money on deplorable tea, I would rather not have to make it myself.”

Ellana could do nothing but fume open-mouthed as he turned and left without another word.  Perhaps the cup of tea wouldn’t have been so _deplorable_ if he’d given the damn thing time to steep or added some sugar like a normal person. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know this was a short one, an interim if you will, but I'll update again this week with a longer chapter three which I'm in the process of editing now ;)


	3. Shattered Appeal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep deprived bald man in a matching set of pajamas complains about Darkspawn ft. a guest appearance by squirrels.

It was one of those late summer days where the very air itself tasted of the changing seasons.  When the wind blew just right, he could smell it — the subtle change in the atmosphere, the sharpness on the breeze — it smelled of the memory cool days, frosty nights, and _change_.  He welcomed it.  Appropriate that the seasons deigned to change just as so many other things in his life had of late.  It wasn’t unwelcome.

He sighed, fixating his gaze on one of the university’s rampant squirrels, watching as it dug through the bits of pine straw to bury its sizable acorn hoard.  He surveyed the syllabus in his hands as another squirrel came up to rob the other, marking corrections in red ink, thinking it a better investment of his time than watching the university wildlife.  Classes began sooner than he necessarily would have liked, given how little time he’d been allotted to prepare in the interim between being offered the job, accepting the position, and moving.  Relocating to the town just outside of Skyhold had been the most stressful bit until now; it had taken him several tries to find any sort of vacant living space, and even then, his apartment was on the fourth floor of a building filled with nothing _but_ prospective students, including the occupant of apartment 401.  Still, his apartment was nice enough and not a long drive away from the campus.  It was more than enough to be grateful for.  

Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the young Dalish woman who lived in the apartment across from his, with her blushing ears and the ease with which he seemed to get in under her skin.  It brought a smile to his lips; perhaps he shouldn’t goad her so, but he had rarely met someone who was so…Awkward was the first word that jumped into his mind, followed by “easily flustered”.  He immediately felt guilty for even thinking it, but there was something about her that just seemed out of place, like it didn’t belong.  And she didn’t.  

Even in his travels, it was rare to see a Dalish away from their clan; the clans were all one unit, traveling and living together, and often, most of the members were even of the same family.  It was even rarer to see a Dalish in the city.  Solas entertained the thought that she may have even been a First; she seemed young to be a Keeper, but that possibility wasn’t to be outright rejected either, though it was certainly implausible.  He felt drawn to her.  A rather unfortunate thing to admit about someone whose name he didn’t even know.  He hadn’t even thought to check her name tag at the coffee shop the morning of their first encounter, and he hadn’t seen her working again since.  For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of her avoiding him; he certainly rarely ran into her outside of her apartment again.  But he quickly dismissed it, chiding himself.  The likelihood of them having synced schedules was extremely low.  It shouldn’t be so surprising that he hadn’t seen her again over the course of the week.

The syllabus lay rejected in his lap as he leaned back against the bench, brow furrowed in thought before he scolded himself for allowing her to become a distraction.  He gathered his things and made his way back to his office, thinking that it would be best to ignore whatever curiosities he felt in relation to his neighbor.  He had a syllabus to complete, after all, and a booklist to send to the university book store.  He refused to delve too much into it, into _her_ , no matter how appealing it was.

* * *

A rather great deal of that appeal was shattered at eleven o’clock the next evening as the dull thumping of bass crept into his apartment from across the hall.  He’d been trying to ignore it for almost an hour, and then spent another half hour attempting to pinpoint the direction of the offending sound when it became clear it would not be something so easily brushed aside.  With a scowl, he was out of bed and across the hall, rapping sharply on her door.  He waited for several silent moments for her to answer, his arms crossed in minor agitation.  If _he_ could hear it, he pitied the soul that inhabited the apartment below hers.  He knocked again, as loudly as he could, before the sound of the music muffled and footsteps approached.

Solas heard the clicking of the latch before the door opened wide to reveal her, a quizzical expression on her face that quickly turned to annoyance that she managed to hide rather quickly.  Only the pink tips of her elongated ears gave her away.   _Predictable._

Solas could feel his mouth turn down at the edges as his grey eyes lingered on her ears, narrower and shorter than his own, more delicate. He could still hear the now-stifled sounds of the heavy metal band Darkspawn spilling from the laptop he could see in the middle of her kitchen counter and he shifted his gaze from her ears to her face.

“Can I help you?”

Her tone was less than pleased, as though _she_ were the one inconvenienced by his appearance at her door.  Surely she couldn’t be so foolish as to not realize why he was here?  Of course she wasn’t; the way she was staring back at him, leaning against the doorway, told him she knew _exactly_ why he was there.  He surveyed her for a moment as he weighed his words, taking in her plain cotton shorts, bare feet, the worn shirt full of holes that read _Kirkwall is for Lovers…_ an amusing sentiment, given the turmoil there.

“I pity the fool who lives below you if I can hear your music so clearly from across the hall.”

His hard gaze was fixated on her, the annoyance clear in the sharp set of his mouth and the agitated way his ears were drawn back ever so slightly.  She snorted.

“Scout works the night shift as an EMT and won’t be back for several hours, so it never bothers her.”  The shrug she gave him was noncommittal.  “But I’ll keep it turned down for you.”

Solas opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off as she pushed off of her door frame, her eyes looking him up and down, taking in his appearance.

“ _Hahren._ ”

He could actually _hear_ her smirk, even if she managed to prevent it from manifesting on her face and he mentally applauded her self-restraint.  Perhaps he would have even chuckled had he been in a less foul mood; it _was_ slightly amusing but not enough to ease his annoyance.  Instead, Solas bristled, patience worn thin by the late hour and the interrupted meditation he had been attempting.  How _Dalish_ of her, to use only the bastardized meaning of the term instead of what it truly meant.  

“ _On nydha*,_ ” he told her brusquely, retreating into his apartment without sparing her another glance.  At least she remained true to her word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1: "Good night."
> 
> Any Elvhen is either from fenxshiral’s Project Elvhen, or the Dragon Age Wiki. Thank you, everyone, for the kind comments and the kudos and just being awesome possums. I love you all to bits x 
> 
> [My apologies for taking forEVER to update; lots of family emergencies came up and I didn't have as much time to write or edit as I wanted to :/]


	4. Drinking Buddies - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting up for drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kudos! This is a bit of a long filler chapter, so bear with me as I finish polishing Five and Six up. :)

**[Ellana - 12:23 AM]  
** holy shit  
he wears matching pjs  
who does that any more  
omfg

 **[Krem Brulee - 12:24 AM]  
** old elfy elfs  
but just how do u know that miss  
did u go over 2 his 4 the sex  
did he try 2 get in ur knicknacks ;) ;) ;)  
seduce u w his stripey sleep breeches :* :* :*

 **[Ellana - 12:24 AM]  
** WTF???!?!?  
NO HE CAME OVER TO COMPLAIN ABOUT MY MUSIC  
WTAF KREMPUFF

 **[Krem Brulee - 12:25 AM]  
** FUCK SHIT SORRY SORRY  
Sera stole my phone

 **[Ellana - 12:25 AM]  
** OK GOOD BC I WAS ???  
wait how did sera get ur phone?

 **[Krem Brulee - 12:26 AM]  
** We’re all fucking around at Dagna’s  
Chief closed up early; not a whole lot of wasted college  
kids wanting tattoos during the off season  
You should come join us  
Sera’s drunk af and the Chief is buying us all booze  
Come regale us w tales of the new neighbor

 **[Ellana - 12:38 AM]  
** fine im omw

 **[Krem Brulee - 12:40 AM]  
** Awesome I’ll keep an eye out for you

 **[Krem Brulee - 12:43 AM]  
** Btw Cullen’s just walked in

It took her only a couple of minutes to change her shorts to some jeans and run a brush through her hair.  Once Krem’s text about Cullen went through though, Ellana spritzed on a bit of perfume and swiped on some eyeliner; habit, really, more than anything, but she always wanted to look — and smell — her best around him.  He’d caught her one morning in nothing but her knickers and an old t-shirt when he’d come to repair her washing machine the second year she lived in her apartment and she swore _never again_.  

She grabbed her keys and shut off her dryer; she’d been in the middle of laundry when Neighbor Elf had come over, demanding that she cut her music down like some sort of _hahren_ and she some scallawag who was egging his lawn.  Ellana chanced a glance at her laptop, the devilish lure of cranking the music all the way back to full volume almost too tempting to pass up; she relished the image of Stripey Arse coming back over and banging on her door for hours while she was off doing shots with Bull and Krem and the rest, but the thought of Scout coming in later that night and not being able to sleep was enough to keep her from doing so.  She knew she worked hard, running around keeping people from dying and what all, and Ellana couldn’t bring herself to make Scout miserable.  She had nothing against _her_ ; technically, she didn't have anything against Mr. 402 either, but something about him rubbed her the wrong way, and it was enough to want to take petty vengeance wherever she could.  He caught her off-guard, something that Ellana hadn’t had happen to her in _years_ , not since the disaster that was the Conclave.  Needless to say, she didn’t like it.

Pushing all thoughts of her irritating next door neighbor from her mind, Ellana instead turned her thoughts to the night ahead as she locked her door and made her way down the stairs.  It’d been a long time since she’d been out with Bull and the rest; she spent most of her evenings marathoning supernatural television shows on the MAGI channel, drooling over Alistair Theirin and brooding over the fact that Leliana _still_ hadn’t had him come visit Skyhold.  

It was late already, and with Bull buying drinks, it would be a small wonder if everyone wasn’t plastered.  Well, everyone save Cullen and herself, the two late tagalongs.  Bull tended to go for the sort of liquor that would be better suited for sterilizing wounds, and she knew her friends’ penchant for getting absolutely shitfaced.  Varric was the only one who was perhaps worse than Bull, but she knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be there; he was still off in the Marches filming.

Dagna’s was only about a block from Ellana’s apartment building; even so, with waiting on crosswalks and the fact that Ellana had refused to bring her bike to ride such a short distance, it was after one o’clock by the time she finally reached the bar.  True to his word, Krem was waiting for her just outside the door, leaning languidly against the brick.  He grinned as she came up and immediately wrapped his arms around her.  He smelled like vodka and leather and smoke and the faintest trace of the incense that burned at the tattoo parlor.  

  
Ellana twined her arms around his neck, leaning up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.  She was rarely so familiar with _anyone_ , but Krem and Bull had been the first to help her back on her feet after everything went to shit.  They had always had her back, like Leliana and Cassandra and Josephine, and she didn’t know what she’d do without them.  Krem gave her a squeeze, lifting off of her feet before he set her down and wrapped an arm around her.  Hers snaked around his waist and she grinned up at him, feeling relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.  It was difficult to admit that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent any real time with him; she’d worked with him about a month prior, helping him with getting a better handle on watercolor tattoos at Bull’s behest.  She vowed to do better.

“So, striped pajamas, eh?” he laughed, guiding her into the hazy, smoke-filled bar.  She elbowed him gently, rolling her eyes, nose burning from the putrid mix of cigarettes and sweat and warm beer.  As disgusting as the smell of the bar was, it felt like _home_ , like Saturday nights wasted playing pool in the dimly lit bar instead of studying.

“Yeah; I couldn’t believe it.  I knew he was older than me but I didn’t think he was _that_ sort of older.  I don’t know what I imagined him sleeping in but it sure as hell didn’t exactly _match_.”

“So you _have_ thought about it,” Krem snorted, letting her go and stepping away from her as she stuck out her tongue.  “Did you picture him _naked_?”

“ _No_ ,” Ellana denied, glad that the dark of the bar hid her traitorous ears.  She could feel the heat on their pointed tips, a horrible tell-tale sign of her embarrassment.  She _hadn’t_ thought of him naked, not until Krem brought it up; true, it hadn’t escaped her notice that he was attractive in a sort of odd way, but she’d never thought long and hard about what he slept in, for Mythal’s sake.  She wasn’t completely insane, after all. She thanked the gods when her voice didn’t break when she spoke, rolling her eyes as Krem waved at the table full of people she called friends.  “You know, I think Sera’s had an influence on you.”

“Me?   _Never_.”

Bull was the first to rise, his muscular arm in the air, signaling them over; he wasn’t exactly hard to miss _anyway_ , with his large stature and horns, but in the dark it was easier to look their ragtag group of comrades over.  Dalish was there, and a couple of the other Chargers — members of Bull’s motorcycle…whatever he called it (Ellana tried desperately not to think “gang”) — Sera sat next to the empty seat that could only be Krem’s, while Cullen pulled another chair up beside himself, gesturing her to sit by him.

Bull gave her a bone-crushing hug before clapping her on the shoulder.

“Hey, Boss, long time no see,” The Iron Bull chuckled, reaching down to the table for his glass and toasting her.  “Glad you could make it; sorry most everyone got shit-faced without —.”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out when a pair of hands obscured her vision and Sera’s heavy Ferelden accent sounded in her ears.  “Guess whoooo!” she giggled. Ellana prised Sera’s fingers off of her face and turned to her, a grin spreading across her lips in spite of herself.  It was hard _not_ to smile when she was with Sera, even though sometimes the bawdy city elf drove her mad.

“Someone’s tipsy.”

“I ain’t good and pissed yet though,” she laughed.  Her voice was overloud, but over the din of the myriad of sounds in the bar, Sera sounded almost normal.  It was easy to make her out in the darkness of the bar, Ellana’s eyesight far more acute than any of her non-Dalish companions.  Sera gave her a puzzled look before grinning again.  “Freaky, innit?  How you do the glowy-thingy with your eyes, yeah?  Like a cat.  Don’t never get used to it, do ya?  Dalish has been freakin’ me out all night.  ’S so _weird._  I’m glad mine ain’t as glowy.”

Krem snorted into his drink, but Ellana took it in stride, scrunching her nose in a playful manner, trying not to burst out laughing at the indignant look on Dalish’s face.  “Maybe not you, but nobody else seems to mind.”

“Still though; it’ll scare the bloody piss right outta ya if y’aint used to it.  Buuuut anyway, that pretty bartender’s callin’ my name.”

Ellana rolled her eyes with a small laugh as Sera bounced off to the bar.  She took her place beside Cullen as Bull sat back down and turned to Krem.  She watched them, Bull’s employees and friends and her own, taking in their faces…

Dorian was missing.  She tried to not feel too dejected; he was often busy at the university with his doctoral research, but she would have liked to have seen him too.  

“I’m glad you could make it,” Cullen told her, leaning close for her to hear.  She caught a whiff of his aftershave, sharp and clean, and she felt her stomach do the weird little dance it did whenever he was near.  He was attractive for a _shemlen_ , one of the few that had ever caught her eye.  She had had such a crush on him the first time she’d met him when she signed her lease, and it hadn’t necessarily completely gone away.  When she’d finally gotten bold enough to flirt with him, he was even more inexperienced and awkward than she was, and she found it utterly endearing.  As they’d grown closer, some of her initial star-struck fancy had faded, but her body’s attraction to him hadn’t.  It had, however, gotten easier to ignore.  

“Thanks,” Ellana grinned.  Nervous fingers tucked her hair behind her ear, gaze landing on Sera as she came back to the table with an arm full of lager.

“So,” Cullen began, scratching at the back of his head with a sheepish look on his face.

“Mm?” she hummed, returning her gaze to him, absentmindedly digging through her wallet for her ID.  

“How’s the new neighbor?  He’s not some deranged lunatic I’m going to have to evict, is he?”

Ellana paused in her search, gnawing on her lip.  “Deranged lunatic, no, but there’s something about him that’s inherently grating.  Perhaps it’s just me though.  I don’t really like _anyone_ until I’m given a chance to know them.  You know? I can fake it at work for customer service but most _shems_ and I don’t get along too well.  No offense.”

“None taken,” he inclined his head, taking hold of the glass of water he’d ordered and taking a sip.  

“Granted, he speaks _Elvhen_ , which I didn’t expect either.  I don’t know.  I don’t know _how_ I feel about him, since I can count on one hand the number of half-assed conversations we’ve had.  Came over just before I joined you guys to complain about my music being too loud.”

Cullen chortled, the nerdy little laugh that was overwhelmingly infectious and Ellana couldn’t stop the warm spread of the fondness in her belly.  

“Hey, look, I’ll be right back,” she told him, excusing herself before sentiment made a fool of her.  She waved her ID at him.  “Everyone else is having a good time, so I might as well indulge in one or two myself.”

The walk to the bar was a bit trickier than it had been when she arrived; dodging drunk humans and dwarves, she finally made it, having narrowly missed getting daiquiri spilled on her in her quest for something to get her slightly inebriated.  It never took much.  She waved one of the bartenders over, a human girl with a shock of red hair, and gave her a smile, holding out her ID.

“I’d like to open a tab, and I’ll start with a…”  Ellana nipped at the inside of her cheek in thought, tapping the little plastic card that certified she was of-age on the wooden countertop.  “An Antivan Sex Bomb?”

The _shem_ took her card, checking the date once, twice, peering into her face suspiciously.  “You sure this isn’t fake?”

Ellana felt anger stir in her veins; that was the problem with being _Elvhen_ , and Dalish most especially.  Most thought they were younger than they actually were, with their wide eyes and thin frames.  It was fucking _annoying_ , and the suspicious look that the bartender was giving her told her that any sort of contesting on her part would result in her likely getting kicked out.  She’d been of legal age for _years_ , but that didn’t stop anyone from questioning when they saw the little date beside her name.  

“If it was, it’s not like I’d admit it in the open, would I?” She didn't bother to hide her contempt.

The human rolled her eyes, shoving it back towards Ellana.  “Sorry, but I can’t serve you since I got no way of knowing it’s real or not except your word.”  The rest of her words went unspoken, but Ellana caught the connotation — she didn’t trust an elf at her word.  She wanted to give her a piece of her mind but restrained herself, peering over the human to attempt to see into the door to the kitchen.  It was a hard lesson she’d learned early working for Leliana; letting petty slights slide in lieu of saving her energy for the ones that truly deserved her ire.

“Is Dagna working?” Ellana asked as she crossed her arms, pursing her lips as the human scowled.

“She’s in the back; what business you got with her?”  

“Well, she _owns_ the damn place, doesn’t she?  And she knows me.  Just go get her.”  In an effort to sound less like an utter ass, she added, “Please.”

The redhead huffed but disappeared into the back anyway, and in a few short moments she returned with Dagna in tow.  The dwarven woman climbed up onto a stool to peer over the top of the high countertop, positively beaming when she caught sight of Ellana.  

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been here!” she exclaimed, leaning over the counter to embrace Ellana.  She wasn’t as close with Dagna as the others (most of her interaction with the dwarf came from when she attended Skyhold and frequented her bar), and found some of her interests odd, so the embrace was truly unexpected; still, she didn’t refuse, merely stiffened a bit before reciprocating.  Besides, she knew Dagna meant well.  When they pulled apart, the ecstatic expression was still on Dagna’s face and Ellana found her own features mimicking it as she so often did.  She was like Sera, their giddiness absolutely contagious.  “I’d been wondering when or if you’d come tonight!  I noticed almost everyone was here, except Dorian and the rest from the university and you, but I didn’t know if you’d join them!  I’m glad you did!  What can I mix you, El?”

  
It took every effort not to wince at the nickname, but that was just Dagna — overly enthusiastic about almost everything, talkative and curious and bubbly, and a pet name for every creature on earth.  It wasn’t horrible in small doses.  The satisfaction she felt at the look on the human’s face was enough for her to plow forward, ordering the same drink she’d asked of the human bartender; she made no effort to hide her smugness as Dagna whipped up the Antivan Sex Bomb in less time than Ellana would have thought possible.  She slid the cup across the counter to Ellana.

“Anything you need, tell Iva here, and we’ll put it on your tab; I think Bull’s paying for everyone tonight though but she knows what to do.”

She hopped down and Ellana watched her disappear back into the kitchen, turning and meandering back to their table as she sipped her drink, the liquor like sweet satisfaction.  It paid to have friends like Dagna, really; she mixed the best drinks in Skyhold. The combination of the cherry vodka, pineapple juice, and lemon soda tasted just like a piece of candy, and she had to remind herself to slip slowly before she became so drunk that Krem had to carry her home.  It took almost nothing to get her inebriated; it was a blessing and a curse.  On the one hand, she drank less and spent less money than her burlier companions.  On the other, it meant she was practically asleep by the time she’d finished one gin and juice.  Because that was what alcohol did to Ellana — most people became loud and brash, but not her.  It made her sleepy and quiet, and she often wanted to curl up wherever she was and nap, preferably with someone else by her side.  She tended to avoid it in general, but tonight, she felt, she deserved a drink.


	5. Drinking Buddies - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never take shots from The Iron Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to update! I like to update twice a week, but last week was absolutely INSANE. I usually don't have stuff to do; I don't know what happened xD Here's the end of the two-part chapter! Thank you to everyone for the kudos and the kind words! You have no idea how much it means to me :')

She tucked one leg beneath her as she made herself comfortable next to Cullen, her drink not even a quarter finished on the table in front of her, condensation forming on the glass.  Dalish had gotten up and left before she’d gotten back, but Bull, Sera, and Krem were still going strong.  Their diminished party meant that Ellana was now sat between Krem (on her right) and Cullen (on her left), watching as Krem tried to arm wrestle with Bull, sending the salt shaker clattering off the table as the Qunari slammed the Tevinter’s arm down in defeat.  Ellana clapped, laughing with the rest as Krem angrily tossed a twenty at Cullen who pocketed it with ease and a smirk.  

“Really, Krem de la Creme, you shouldn’t have made a bet you knew you wouldn’t win,” Bull laughed.  Ellana chanced another sip of her drink, her cheeks already feeling hot and eyes heavy.  Krem slung an arm around the back of her chair and she leaned into him, grateful that he’d asked her to tag along.  They used to spend more weekends like this, drinking at Dagna’s or having coffee at Leliana’s, or just spending the nights together in general, playing Wicked Grace.  Sometimes Josephine and Cassandra would join them, and even Vivienne; Dorian was always a regular as was Varric.  She missed their presence tonight more than anything; their small group didn’t feel whole without them.

Krem’s snort interrupted her nostalgia, and she flicked her eyes up, honing in on what he was saying.  “One day I’ll beat you Chief; don’t get too comfortable with winning.”

“How can I not be, when you make it so easy?” Bull guffawed.  Ellana could feel the contraction of muscles in Krem’s abdomen as he laughed, her head bouncing in tandem with the motion.  It was so easy to laugh with them, to let herself forget everything that was bothering her…

Like her new neighbor.  And the Chantry.  And Deshanna.  She reached out for her drink and took a long sip, forcing the thoughts from her mind.  Tonight was about fun with old friends, not for brooding on what had happened in the past.  It never did her any good anyway, just served to make her upset and bitter.  Thinking about Mr Next Door would do nothing to help her mood either, so she hitched a grin on her face and tried to tune in to what Sera was saying.  She caught the tail end of what sounded suspiciously like her friend had had _sex_ in  _Cassandra’s_ car; for the other elf’s sake, Ellana hoped she hadn’t.  Cassandra was a forced to be reckoned with when  _calm_ ; then again, after giving her a good tongue-lashing, she’d probably demand to know all of the smutty details blow by blow.  

“An’ that’s how I got the nickname Wildcard,” Sera finished with flair, giving an ostentatious bow.  Nearly everyone was in gales of laughter — Cullen was actually  _doubled over_ , and that in itself was enough to send Ellana into a giggling fit so intense she ended up snorting loud enough for the patrons two tables over to hear and be offended.  Which, of course, set everyone off again.

Ellana had barely finished off her first drink when Bull brought everyone a round of shots.  She rarely did them; the first time she’d ever thrown one back, it’d been Grey Warden whiskey, and she had gotten ill immediately afterward.  The halla keeper, Bryn, had stolen it from a bunch of  _shems_ to share with her, an attempt to impress her _._ It had been the first time she’d ever had a drink in her life, and she’d thrown up on the boy she’d been stealing kisses from behind the  _aravel_  ring. The Qunari sat the glass of red liquid down in front of her with a grin, passing one to Cullen and Sera and Krem.  

“To getting absolutely shitfaced!” Iron Bull bellowed, earning a round of raucous ‘Hear, hear!’ from other patrons as well as their group of friends.  Ellana toasted him herself, unsure of what kind of liquor was in her hand, plucking up her courage and tossing it back before she had a chance to talk herself out of it.   _‘At least I don’t have work in the morning_.’

It burned as it went down and she sputtered, the overwhelming taste of cinnamon and the unmistakeable bitterness of vodka making her cough.  She immediately regretted her decision; Krem whacked her on the back as her face reddened and she continued to cough, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.  It was like fire in her mouth, and the cinnamon didn’t help; it was  _worse_ than the whiskey.  Dread Wolf take her — it was easily the most vile thing she’d ever put in her mouth.  She ought to have  _known_ that Bull would have picked something obscenely strong.

“Sh-shit!” she managed, clearing her throat once she regained her composure.  Cullen peered at her with concern, his glass of ever-present water in his hand as he offered it to her as a chaser.  She took it gratefully, taking a large sip, almost sighing as the icy water cooled off her mouth.

“What the hell  _was_ that, Bull?” Ellana asked weakly.  She could already feel her stomach roiling, her head spinning in protest, and it was all she could do not to pinch the bridge of her nose to try and quell some of the immediate aftereffects of the strong alcohol.

“Dragon’s Breath; Dagna’s newest acquisition.”

“Aptly named,” she quipped as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.  The room had begun to spin, and she leaned back against Krem’s shoulder, closing her eyes tight.  She thought she had caught a glimpse of jealousy on Cullen’s face before she shut her eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

“You okay?” Krem asked her.

“Urgh, no,” she told him.  “Remind me to never,  _ever_ take a shot from Bull ever again.  I think I may have killed any and all feeling in my mouth.”

Krem snorted as he patted her knee.  “Duly noted.”

* * *

 

By the time her friends had finished telling stories and sobered up slightly, the sun had begun to break on the horizon.  Part of her was glad she had come; the other part deeply,  _deeply_  regretted her decision to drink as she ambled along beside Cullen.  Krem had offered to walk her home, but Ellana let Cullen take her; after all, they lived in the same building she’d argued, and Krem lived across town.  He peered at her as he let them in the building, his brow drawn as he watched her run a hand through her hair.  She was so, so sleepy; she hadn’t slept in almost a whole day, and the alcohol in her system only exacerbated the fact that she needed rest.

“You and Krem, then?” he asked her, looking sheepish and awkward.

“What?” Ellana rubbed her face, trying for all the world to not be sick on his shoes.  She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, preferably with _Destination: Deep Roads_  on the television in the background.  Not only that, but she wanted food and to not be inebriated any longer and to be unconscious for almost as many hours as there were in a day.  

“I didn’t realize you and Krem were…” he made a sort of odd gesture and she squinted at him, confused.

“Dating.  I didn’t realize you and Krem were dating,” he sighed, clearly wishing that he hadn’t had to outright say it.  Ellana gave him an incredulous look, leaning against the closed door.

“Don’t be stupid,” she told him before she shook her head, knowing that that sounded horribly rude.  “No, I meant…that’s not what I meant.  I mean, no.  We’re not.  Dating.”  She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled sharply.  “Can we talk about this…not now?” she asked him, her tone practically begging him to drop the subject.  Her eyes were heavy and burning from lack of sleep, and her stomach hadn’t ever calmed down from whatever the hell was in Dagna’s latest discovery.

“Er…well, then, I’m—ah, I’m glad,” Cullen mumbled, clearly embarrassed.  He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.  “May I walk you up?” he asked her and she nodded blearily.  Thank the Creators he dropped it; she didn’t feel much like awkward conversations, given the fact that she almost always humiliated herself when  _sober_.  There was no telling what sort of betrayal her tongue might come up with when she felt so tired and tipsy.  It took her even longer than usual to make the journey to the top of the fourth flight of stairs, and she was glad Cullen was there, otherwise she didn’t trust herself to make it all the way up.  In fact, around about the fifth stair on the first floor, she considered kipping right there in the stairwell, but his presence was the only thing that kept her from doing so.  

She groaned as they topped the stairs.  Her bed was so close…just a few more steps and she could curl up with her pillows and stretch out and close her eyes and make the dizziness and the world just  _stop_.  

“Are you alright?” Cullen placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her as she shook her head and leaned into him.

“I just need a…I need the sleep.  For hours.  Drinking makes me sleepy and it’s really early.  Or late.  I dunno,” she clumsily tried to separate her keys, only vaguely aware of the door opening and closing across the hall.

“Good morning, Cullen,” a deep lilting voice greeted from behind her, making her already flushed cheeks feel hotter than they were.  Of  _course_ he’d be leaving right as she came in, absolutely plastered.  She fumbled once more with her keys as Cullen greeted her neighbor (easy enough for him; he wasn’t drunk off his arse), and she caught his name from Cullen — Solas — as she tried so desperately to get into her apartment before she embarrassed herself.  “And you,  _da’len_.”

She bristled at his use of the  _Elvhen_  diminutive for child, stiffening next to Cullen, refusing to turn and look at her neighbor until she had a moment to collect her emotions.  Ellana chanced a glance up at her friend to find a puzzled look in his eyes as he flicked his gaze between her and the other elf.  It took all of her self-restraint not to whirl around and tell him  _exactly_ what she thought about him calling her _da’len,_ that she wasn’t a child, that she was older than she looked, anything to prove him wrong.  But that was a battle for another time when her tongue didn’t feel thick in her mouth and when she could form sentences that made more sense than “I need the sleep.”    
  
Instead, she returned the greeting to Solas, twisting her head over her shoulder to give him a smile that she knew was more of a grimace before unlocking her door as Solas disappeared down the stairwell.  Ellana opened it with a sigh, disappearing inside with one last smile at Cullen who looked as though he wanted to ask her what Solas had said.    
  
Several hours later, when most normal people would have been up and going about their business, Ellana lay awake in bed, unable to sleep no matter what she did.  She kept replaying the way the cadence in his voice rolled the diminutive off his tongue,  _da’len, da’len, da’len_.  There was nothing inherently malicious in his tone, nor in his features that she saw, but still.   _Da'len._ No-one called her  _da'len_ except for Deshanna.  It was hard to keep herself from crying, the tightness in her throat making her feel stupid and foolish, like she did every time she had disappointed her Keeper. _Da'len._    
  
It shouldn’t have stung as badly as it did.


	6. Ir Abelas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stressful phone call and a troubling newscast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to very sincerely apologize; I’ve been through quite a bit the past few months (including conventions and changing jobs), and I got rather far behind in terms of writing and updates. I want to thank everyone who’s left me kudos since I dropped off at the last chapter — you’ve kept me motivated to keep pushing myself to write. Thank you for sticking with me. How about a chapter of nothing but PLOT?? love from — apostated x

_Zzt_.  

Ellana groaned, her eyes unwilling to open and mind unwilling to acknowledge that her phone was, in fact, ringing at twelve o’clock in the afternoon.

_Zzt!_

It seemed to triple in volume, its vibrations ever-so-slightly shaking the bed where it rested.  She fumbled under the duvet, still unwilling to open her eyes and give the day and her phone any sort of acknowledgement aside from feigning consciousness long enough to switch the damned thing _off_.  

_ZZT!_

“Oh, sodding hell, alright, al _right_ ,” she mumbled as her fingers finally brushed against the island of aluminum and glass in the sea of cotton.  Ellana still refused to open her eyes, but something niggled at her, something in the back of her mind that her brain — so filled with a sleep and alcohol-infused fog — was having difficulty processing, before it hit her.   _Nobody_ called her.  Except Deshanna, and even then, her Keeper only bothered phoning her if there was something wrong.  She saved things of little to no import for texting, for when Ellana could afford to ignore her clan’s Keeper and pretend she wasn't running from the past.  She sat up with a jolt, breath hitching as she slid her finger across the screen to take the call, Deshanna’s name blaring up at her like some sort of artificially lit omen.

“Hello?”  

She could hear her heart thundering in her ribcage; had something happened to her clan?  Deshanna did not bother with a greeting, and Ellana could hear the distress in her tone. 

“Ellana, turn on the news.   _Now_.”  

Ungracefully clambering out from in under the covers and forcing herself to ignore the fact that her head was pounding and her mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton, she tore her way as fast as her still half-asleep body would allow her to the living room, turning on her television and putting it on Ferelden’s national news station.

“—according to renowned author, physicist and anthropologist, _Fen’Harel_ , who has published countless books on Dalish history and the physics of the Fade, the appointment of a non-Dalish as an expert on all things _Elvhen_ and arcane to the empress of Orlais should come as no surprise.”

Ellana tensed, hearing her Keeper’s angry breathing in her ear. 

“The appointment,” the newscaster continued.  “Comes in the wake of the discovery of a rare and priceless _Eluvian_ , discovered by an exiled member of the Sabrae clan, and is stirring up quite the controversy, but according to _Fen’Harel_ , the Dalish have no rights to the ancient mirror nor to a position within Orlesian court.”

The newscaster flicked to a screen with a portrait of a Dalish statue of their god, the voice in the sound byte altered so as to be unrecognizable.

“The clans have no money to fund museums; a discovery such as this would only be sold to the highest bidder, not studied and preserved as it should be.  While I owe no allegiances to Orlais, I believe that they are the mirror’s best chance for both preservation and study.  The Dalish also have no right to the position as Empress Celene’s arcane advisor; they know nothing of their true history, of their true language, and seek only to cling to their half-imagined _history_ , if one can call their fantasies such.”

Ellana felt her blood run cold as the newscaster resumed, the interview snippet concluded.

“This appointment, the discovery of the _Eluvian_ , the legal battles that have been ongoing the past few months over who rightfully has custody over the mysterious mirror, violence within their own clans over territories, and the Chantry pulling their support of the scholarship recipient Ellana Lavellan named at the Conclave is cause for concern, and not just for the Dalish…”

She didn’t need to hear any more.  She clicked off the television, barely noticing that she held her cellphone in a vice-like grip.

“He calls himself _Fen’Harel_ , and apparently he is not a new name where the People are concerned,” Deshanna spoke, her voice low and angry.  “He takes the name of our trickster god, and seeks to undo what precious little years of fighting and poverty have earned us.  He calls himself an educated man, and yet…And they bring you into this!  As if you had any control over those backstabbing self-righteous _dogs_ and their false god!  The first half was detailing the in-fighting of two of our clans farther west, and the disaster that was the Conclave.  Oh, _ir abelas_ , _da’len_ , _ir abelas_.”

Ellana didn’t trust herself to speak.  She sighed, scrubbing her hand down her face to cover her eyes.  Why, why couldn’t they just leave her people alone?

“It’s fine, _hahren_ ,” she mumbled, the words tumbling forth of their own volition.  It truly wasn’t, but what else could she say?

She didn’t hear half of what Deshanna was saying as she went on, her Keeper’s voice an angry hiss in her ear.  Her mind was buzzing.  It had been this way for years.  The People, treated like less than nothing, given promises that turned out to be nothing more than empty air, and clinging to a history that — as the man calling himself _Fen’Harel_ so _succinctly_ put it — was half-imagined.  They had nothing, forced to live in reservations because this ambassador and that _shem_ didn’t like them traveling.  Unsafe, they called it.  Better for them to settle, to ignore the itch in their feet that said travel, to ignore the way of life they had built for themselves to settle on reservations more poorly funded than the alienages that the poorest of the city elves were forced to live in.  Their way of life was _dying_.

Perhaps that had been why it was so easy to run.  Run away from it all, and settle here.  The scholarship she had received from the Chantry had been a blessing, a means to secure a better life for herself, an _education at a university_ , an opportunity that was _never_ granted to someone like her.  Divine Justinia _herself_ presented the scholarship to her — full tuition, a generous gift that had never before been given to an elf, let alone a _Dalish elf._  But Divine Justinia had died, and some whispered that she had been  _assassinated_ , not too long after the deal had been brokered.  Many opposed her decision from the start, and her death was all too convenient for those who were in opposition to her decision.  The Chantry had pulled their support, denounced her as Herald of Andraste (a title meant to inspire awe and hope about her future, a title she had been expected to wear in exchange for such lofty aid), and  after struggling to keep her head above water and her tuition paid, Ellana had quit school.  Rather than face the disappointment of her clan, she stayed in self-imposed exile, making enough in tips at Nightingale’s to scrape by a decent living.

That was how it always had been for the Dalish — promises unkept and fighting for their survival.  That was how it would always be for people like her, with their faces marked with their _vallaslin_ and their pointed ears.  The _shems_ hated them.  It felt like they were fighting another losing war, the atrocities committed against her people never-ending.

Ellana’s head hurt, and she didn’t realize she was crying until she removed her hand and felt the  tell-tale wetness on her palm.  She sniffed to try and clear her nose.

“Oh, _da’len_ ,” Deshanna murmured softly into her ear.  “ _Ir abelas_.”


End file.
